


Alone in the Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Asexual Sherlock, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Fear of Abandonment, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, M/M, Mind Palace, Summer, hypotheticals, mentions lestrade's ex wife, talk of aliens, triggers?, weird thought process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped indoors by summer heat, Sherlock and Greg take to casually making deep and hypothetical conversations.</p>
<p>Greg accidentally says the wrong thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone in the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> I do NOT own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters. 
> 
> Kind of a personal therapy piece as I know what it is to struggle with feeling like you owe the one you love physical contact.

Sherlock arched subconsciously into the sweeping coolness coming off of the rotating floor fan Lestrade had placed at his side. Heat like this came seldom in London but when the sun did make its debut, it was absolutely miserable. Still, Sherlock could not think of anywhere he would rather be than plastered to the hardwood floor in Lestrade's sitting room in nothing but pants, holding his hand loosely in his own while staring up at the coarse ceiling. These were their most intimate moments, when Sherlock could not bear to wear more than a shred of clothing and this should be pressing at his comfort zone but with Greg it's...different. He revels in the calm these moments when his mind is quiet.

"I just think it's a little egotistical to think that we're the only intelligent life-forms in this vast, barely explored universe," Lestrade continued his earlier rant. His eyebrows knitted together as he turned to Sherlock to gauge his response.

Sherlock simply shrugged his shoulderblades aching against the wood beneath him. "It's hardly egotistical. We're not seeking them out and if they are out there they're clearly not searching for us. If you don't speak to your neighbors is it any different than not having neighbors?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. Greg frowned and Sherlock's fingers curled more tightly around his. It went unnoticed. 

"Because that's frightening. Lonely even to think that we're alone out here. You may not talk to your neighbors but I'll bet ya if you screamed loud enough they'd send help," Greg offered. 

Sherlock's stomach felt as though it was in knots. "Is it really that terrifying Greg? Is it really so scary to you that it might just be us?" Greg did something that looked like a nod and Sherlock bit his lip, turning to face the ceiling once more. He closed his eyes a moment. Deep in the lobbies of his mind palace Sherlock found a string connected to this conversation that had gone flat with silence. The string extended down the corridors and he followed it to its source, passing several rooms filled to the brim with relevant information. He passed the one that held his favorite memories of Lestrade and deep into the very back, the stretch of hallway that he hadn't bothered to grace with lighting. The string pulled taut as he approached the room that every nerve urged him to abandon in favor of brighter spaces but the string pulled at him as he pulled at it. Somewhere at the end of this string was the source of Sherlock's discomfort with this conversation he needed to know it. Needed to break it down and conquer it, convince it that it is powerless so that it could no longer affect him this way. He pulled the door open.

Inside was a memory of Lestrade he hadn't bothered to file but was still floating around somehow. He had purged all records of Lestrade's previous marriage but somehow this remained. This disgruntled conversation between his love and Donovan about his unsuccessful attempts to have a child with his wife. He watches closely cataloging his commentary, his recollection of Greg's relief after the divorce that these fruitless attempts hadn't come to a head. Still, it was there, hovering over him like dust caught in a projector's light; he could not unsee it. He could not unfeel it. The obvious. Natural human impulses dictate that we need to procreate. Our brain chemistry is set up to tell us when we are falling in love but sometimes it is our bodies that try to convince us that a simple fuck is worth more than it is. Panic; the room becomes heavy with panic. Sherlock opens his eyes.

Greg's got one of his knees up arching his back, exposing the long column of his neck to the sweeping chill when the heavy weight of his companion traps him there. Sherlock was stradling his hips with his own, his hands were at either side of his head, his eyes cold and contemplative. "Sherlock what are you doing?" Greg asks with a worried smile. Sherlock's eyes go half-lidded as he begins to hover into Greg's personal space, he arches his back pressing his pelvis against Greg's before capturing the inspector's lips in a kiss. Greg's eyes go wide with surprise as he lets his raised leg fall flat involuntarily his hips buck up into the friction Sherlock is creating and it feels amazing. This lasts for awhile. Sherlock continues rocking his hips against Greg's heavy erection, kissing him smoothly and languidly on the mouth, running his palms flat along Greg's sides. Sherlock is not oblivious, he knows how to do this, he's seen the films and read the stories but it doesn't prepare him for the flood of data and the overwhelming discomfort. His head is screaming at him to stop this; this is tedious and he doesn't like it. He tries to power through it. Greg grips him by the shoulders and pushes him back. "Sherlock stop this!" he growls. With his thumb Greg collects the wettness on Sherlock's face. Sherlock had not realised he had been crying.

"Y-you're hard. You want it," Sherlock urged attempting to grind his flacid groin into Greg's again. Greg responded by pushing the detective off of his lap, sitting up across from him with his hands still on his shoulders.

"You don't," Greg frowned. "What prompted this sunshine?" Greg asks seriously.

"You're just so homo-sapien," Sherlock growled under his breath. Greg cocked his eyebrow utterly confused. "I can't-" he started trying to but not wanting to remind Greg that there were just some things that Sherlock could not give him. He took a breath and tried a different approach. "I'm okay with this. I'm perfectly happy with it just being us and I don't want you to get lonely and go shouting for the neighbors," Sherlock finally stammered out stupidly.

"This is about aliens?" Greg asked still lost in Sherlock's tangled strings of thought. How could that have anything to do with this?

Sherlock shrugged, then nodded. "It's just the heat. I don't understand how it's connected but I know it. I just don't want you to search for anyone else," Sherlock concluded pressing a palm to his tear-stained cheek.

Greg's eyes go soft with understanding. "I won't," he assured, "I don't want anything but this. Just us. Exactly the way it is." Sherlock smiles at the jumble of sentence fragments because it's exactly what he needs to hear. "Can I hold you for awhile?" Greg asks and Sherlock agrees. They fall asleep on that floor. 


End file.
